


Welcome to the cloud, bitches

by ferggirl



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, Tattoos, Tumblr Prompt, the stages of drunk amy return
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 20:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3663669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferggirl/pseuds/ferggirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gina is devious. Rosa is skeptical. Amy is at stage 5 drunkeness. Jake is sunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to the cloud, bitches

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Jake/Amy: Jake finds out Amy has a tattoo

It’s an impulse decision. That’s the best Amy can offer as an explanation to herself later. 

The team is unwinding after a long day of semi-competent police work. Jake and Amy are awkwardly pretending not to avoid each other, Sarge and Boyle are blissfully unaware, and Rosa and Gina are comparing tattoos. 

She stares at the bottom of her fourth beer bottle and wonders when the hell she got this drunk. Then she catches herself looking a bit too intently at the inked cross on the small of Rosa’s back (what? it seems really soft and she’s allowed to notice). As casually as possible, she pulls the “Drunk Amy Santiago cheat sheet” that she’d laminated in February out of her bag. 

She’s on a journey of self-discovery, and part of that is maintaining more professional habits when out with colleagues. Four drinks puts her at…

“A bit of a pervert? Shit.” The words escape before she can stop them, and she claps a hand over her mouth, mortified. 

Sarge tilts his head at her curiously. Jake, thank god, is entirely distracted by the butterfly vs. “I <3 my mama” debate Gina is holding with herself. 

“I, uh, I’m going to grab another drink,” she squeaks at her boss. “Did you want…?”

He shakes his head. “I gotta head out soon. My girls are starting little league tomorrow and I need to be in peak supportive parent mode.”

Amy nods and edges toward the bar. A glance at her laminated list shows “weirdly confident” as the next stage and she assumes that’s at least safer than the horrible dirty joke that just occurred to her. About  _little league._ She’s a menace to society. 

"You’re gonna intimidate the hell out of that other team,” Rosa smirks. “Keep em in line.”

Amy waves the bartender over with a smile that she tries - she really does - not to allow to slide into a leer. “One more of these,  _handsome_.”

Oops. Well, at least she tried. 

"Oh, nothing like that.” Sarge sounds scandalized. “But if I drink too much it’ll mean I won’t wake up bright and early to prepare all the goodies for the team. It’s the first week so I wanted to bring a good variety. Peanut-free cookies, and my special Easter-themed fruit and veggie platter. I make a whole woodland scene.”

“That sounds delightful,” Boyle jumps in with only the slightest of slurs. “I could give you a nice dip recipe, only about six hours of chilling needed after you puree the chickpeas with the quinoa. The beets make it a lovely pastel pink.”

He and Sarge tuck their heads together as the rest of the team groans and retreats to the bar to join Amy. 

Amy catches Jake’s eye just as the bartender winks and slides her the beer. She immediately and inelegantly chugs the entire bottle. Anything to keep from digging this hole any deeper. 

She only dribbles a few drops onto her silk blouse so she’s calling it a win. Both men are a bit wide-eyed.

Right. 

Well. 

As they should be. 

She grins, but there’s nothing lecherous about it this time. The list gets shoved back into her bag. Screw self discovery. After all, she’s the equal of any one of them. 

Gina grins too, and waves five fingers knowingly in her direction. “You have any tattoos, Amy? Oh wait, you probably think it’s a teenage rebellion that you didn’t need in order to achieve your perfect state of utterly boring.”

Rosa snorts, but Jake shoots Gina a stern look. Amy doesn’t appreciate either reaction. She can handle this herself. 

“I will hash - I will  _have_ you know that I do,” she clears her throat and tries her best to enunciate clearly, “and it’s particle, parleticle, _particularly_ rebellious.”

“Oh I was trying to be mature, but this I’ve got to see.” Jake downs his own drink and scoots his stool over to the three women. “Show don’t tell, Santiago.”

“I don’t buy it.” Rosa narrows her eyes. “I think you’re just drunk and argumentative.”

“Wanna bet?” Amy leans closer. 

“Yes!” Jake jumps in. “She does. She wants to bet. Bet her something, Rosa. For all of us.”

“Fine. I bet you don’t. If I’m right, you do my paperwork for a week. If I’m wrong, I’ll take your shift with Scully and Hitchcock on Friday.”

“All four of my shifts with them this month,” Amy shoots back. 

Rosa looks dubious, but Jake grabs her hand and makes them shake on it. “Great, done, bet is sealed.”

Gina’s eyebrows are sky high. “Well then, my little lotus blossom. Bloom for us. Let’s see this ink!”

Amy knows there’s a very good reason she’s never shown her team her tattoo before.

She just can’t imagine that it’s more important than winning this bet.

So she slides off her barstool, hooks her fingers in her belt loops, and drops her pants just as Captain Holt emerges from the men’s room.  

None of them speak for a full minute. Gina looks like she’s just won the lottery. Rosa looks torn between laughter and disappointment. Jake just looks stunned. 

Captain Holt is harder to read.

“Santiago, why are you undressing in a public place?”

Oh, no, that’s definitely his mildly disapproving and somewhat concerned voice. Gina’s phone flashes as the shutter clicks in the silent bar. Jake rounds on her and they are suddenly in a heated, whisper-level argument. 

Amy tugs her pants back up. 

“Winning a bet, sir.” Amy only has eyes for Rosa. “All month. My Fridays are yours. Santiago OUT.”

Her dramatic exit is a little bit spoiled when she trips on the step and pulls off the shade on the bar’s door. But she makes it to the curb before she realizes all of her things are still inside. 

She is just deciding that  _sure_  she can walk the six miles home in these shoes when the bar door slams. 

“Hey, killer, you uh, forgot a few things.”

Jake’s standing there with her coat, her bag, and Gina’s phone. He’s also holding the door closed while Gina rattles the handle and yells strange threats (”My legion of twitter followers deserve to know!”) through the dirty glass. 

“I did that on purpose.” She’s not sure exactly what she’s talking about, but he’s looking at her with amusement and concern and shouldn’t he be more impressed?

“Oh, yeah, totally.” She’d call the look on his face fond, if she didn’t know that he’s way past over her. “I got that. Rosa’s crushed.”

She grabs her coat. Gina presses her whole face against the glass and makes angry fish eyes at them.  

“No, dummy.” She hikes her bag over her shoulder and reaches up to ruffle his hair. “I could’ve made them go to the ladiesh - the bathroom to show it. I did it on _purpose.”_

For the second time tonight, he looks stunned. So she pecks him on the cheek and tries for a dramatic spin-and-walk-away. She can’t quite gauge the spin, and winds up facing him again. 

"Well, well, Amy Santiago you devious drunkard,” he laughs. “In that case I feel particularly noble in giving you this.” With a one-handed flourish, he slips Gina’s spangly phone into her purse and points her to a waiting cab. "Off you go."

She looks back one more time after she gives the cabbie her address. Gina’s long gone. He’s still standing at the door, holding the knob, watching her go with a slight smile on his face. 

Atta girl, Ames. 

******

The next morning her phone’s insistent buzzing is what wakes her. She gropes around in her purse until she finds it. 17 new emails. 

Huh.

>   
>  _From: Gina Linetti  
>  _ _Subject: Welcome to the cloud bitches, my backups have backups_  
> 

She clicks to open and just stares at her bare ass. 

Oh god, she’s got to stop drinking. 


End file.
